Page 31 of Claimed By the Boss

“Okay.”

“And if you change your mind,” he says seriously. “I’ll stop the second you ask me to.”

“I won’t,” I whisper.

His mouth brushes my skin again, drifting lower this time. He peels the rest of my underwear away, slowly and carefully, like he’s unwrapping a much-anticipated gift. When I’m bare beneath him, he sits back to look at me. His gaze drags over my body, slow and reverent, like he’s committing every inch of me to memory.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

I try to laugh. “You probably say that to all the women.”

“Lyra,” he says sternly. “You are the only woman I’m looking at right now, and you are stunning.”

His fingers trail down my side, slow and warm, and my body arches toward him before I even realize I’m moving. He kisses me again as his hand glides between my thighs, his touch gentle, tracing over me with featherlight precision.

I gasp when he finds the spot that makes my hips buck. He circles my clit slowly, watching me the whole time. My hands grip his forearm, half to guide him, half to keep myself steady.

The buildup is maddening and perfect.

He slips one finger inside again, just as he did in the car, then stills.

“Is this okay?”

I nod, too breathless to speak.

He moves slowly, carefully, learning what I respond to, adjusting with every sigh, every twitch of my hips. I lose track of time. I stop trying to think. All I know right now is how he makes me feel.

The pressure builds slowly, maddeningly, and when I finally come, it’s quiet and shattering and everything at once. I cry out before I can stop myself, hips lifting off the bed as my whole body tightens and releases under his hand.

He holds me through it, leaving tender kisses down my shoulders, arms, and hands.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes. God, yes. You’re incredible.”

I run my hands over his chest, then lower, anticipating the grand prize.

“I want more,” I tell him breathlessly. “I want you inside me.”

He lifts his head, watching me closely. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I almost beg.

He kisses me once more before reaching for the drawer. I watch as he rolls a condom on, then settles between my legs again, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress. He doesn’t rush.

And when he finally pushes inside, it’s very careful, very slow, and very steady.

I tense a little, instinctively.

“Breathe,” he whispers.

I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath, but follow his order.

He watches me the whole time, adjusting as he goes, waiting for me to catch up, to open around him, to let him in. Never once does he drop his mask of control, yet I know that I’m the one in charge here.

When he’s fully inside me, we both freeze.

I’ve never felt anything like this. I feel so full and so stretched in the best way. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold him close, grounding myself in the press of his chest, the feel of his breath against my neck. He moves in shallow strokes at first, watching my face, and slowly, something shifts.